


V Is For Vampire

by duplicity



Series: One-Shots [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Vampire Harry Potter, Vampire Tom Riddle, idiots to lovers, they take turns using it, tom and harry have one (1) brain cell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: One cursed night over seventy years ago, Harry agreed to bite Tom and turn him into a vampire. Flash forward to today, when Tom hires a rag-tag group of starving film students to film a documentary about their lives as two totally platonic vampire pals.Because Tom thinks their life as vampires is interesting enough for mainstream media.Because he’s crazy.Harry should have just let Tom die of old age like any other sane person would have done.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Series: One-Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597975
Comments: 56
Kudos: 391





	V Is For Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> i first came up with the idea for this story (based on the movie 'what we do in the shadows') like 8 months ago, and now it is finally finished????
> 
> i dunno what this is or what the purpose of it is other than to entertain me. also there are more details i had in mind for this universe that i did want to include, but i don't have the time to flesh out in this story,,, maybe in the future i will???
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

Tom gazed impassively down at Harry’s pale, frozen features. With his eyes shut and his face slackened, Harry seemed to be at peace. Harry’s inky hair even melted into the surrounding fabric that cushioned it. Tom had gone out of his way to request for the hair to be styled, seeing as it would be the only opportunity he would ever get to force the matter.

Laying a hand on the rim of the elegant, luxurious coffin, Tom cleared his throat.

“Harry,” he said, steady and serious. “I know I never said this before I should have. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and I will not forget it for the next millennia. Or at least for the next month or so. And I’m not promising any favours. But your effort _is_ very appreciated.”

Harry didn’t answer, did not move so much as a centimeter in any direction.

The coffin was nice, Tom decided. The hinges were solid, and the wood was beautiful and polished. Well worth every penny he’d paid for it. It was going to look very nice in his bedroom alongside his bookshelves and writing desk.

“Do you need another moment?”

The voice of one of the funeral employees—Tom had already forgotten her name—drew his attention away from Harry. She had been standing in the doorway the entire time, sympathy radiating from her in waves. Tom had ignored her mostly, because he did not plan to linger, but she was unfortunately fixated on the fact that Harry’s funeral party was composed of only a single person.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Tom told her. “We’ll be out of your way very soon. The vehicle is out back, and we shall depart shortly.”

The woman’s eyes trailed over to the coffin. “We can offer some aid with the transportation—”

“Won’t be necessary,” Tom said, offering her a charming smile.

Said smile did not reassure her, for her expression remained uneasy and she made no move to leave.

“If you could please exit the room and shut the door,” Tom continued, still speaking in a pleasant tone, “that would be much appreciated.”

“Oh, o-of course.” Flustered, the woman left, the door closing softly behind her.

Tom turned his attention back to Harry.

“Time to move you outside,” he said.

Harry sat up, glaring. The effect of the glare was somewhat ruined by his glossy, well-groomed hair. “Let’s just move this into the car already,” Harry muttered, cracking his neck with a jerky motion. “I can’t believe I agreed to hold still for this long. Do you know how boring it was?”

“Yes, yes,” Tom said, extending an arm to pull Harry out. “And I am very grateful.”

“Next time you want a new bed,” Harry said, grasping Tom’s shoulders as he hauled himself out of the coffin, “you get to play dead body.”

“Take the back end,” Tom said. “And I’ll take the front.”

“People are going to see me,” Harry complained, but he did as Tom asked, gripping the back end of the coffin with both hands.

“We’ll tell them you’re the twin brother.”

“Who didn’t go to the funeral?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“It was too traumatic to see what essentially looked like your own dead body,” Tom decided. He shut the top portion of the coffin and looked the entire thing over. “The artistry is very nice, in all honesty. I may have to pen a nice letter—”

“Tom,” said Harry. “I will kill you for real if you don’t hurry up and wheel this out of here.”

“See what I have to put up with?” Tom huffed a dramatic sigh, glancing over his shoulder at the rag-tag camera crew. “I ask him to do _one thing_ for me, and all he does is threaten to murder me, as if I’m not already dead thanks to him—”

“You _begged_ me to turn you, you absolute arse!”

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

[Harry is seated on a large, red armchair. His hair is askew, his glasses perched crookedly on the bridge of his nose. He blinks at the camera, looks somewhere in the distance, then looks back at the camera.]

_“How did I meet Tom? Um, well, it’s been about seventy years or so, I think.”_

* * *

[Tom is seated in a brown leather office chair, a backdrop of multiple bookshelves filled with colourful spines behind him. His hair is combed neatly to one side, his posture relaxed and elegant.]

_“I’ve had the pleasure of Harry’s company for seventy-three years, two months, two weeks, three days, and seventeen hours. Now, if you wanted to know how much of that time he spent_ **_sleeping—”_ **

* * *

_“Tom followed me around and nagged me until I caved and turned him into a vampire. Anything else he tells you is complete bullshit.”_

[Harry crosses his arms and tosses one of his legs over the armrest of his chair.]

_“The only reason I agreed to do it was because he has a lot of money. So now I can sit around and work on my hobbies without being worried about vampire hunters. Although...”_ [Harry sits up, shrugging.] _“It is nice to have some company. Even if he’s a git. But I will say that it’s hilarious every time he claims to be his own son. Tom Riddle Junior-Junior.”_

* * *

_“Harry is the only one who calls me Tom Junior-Junior. It is not my legal name. Do_ **_not_ ** _include anything he says along those lines in the documentary.”_

* * *

**_THREE MONTHS EARLIER_ **

* * *

“Tom? Where the hell are you?” Harry called out as he stomped up the stairs of Tom Riddle Junior-Junior’s excessive, luxurious, sprawling mansion.

“I’m in my room,” Tom said at a normal volume.

Harry continued his noisy trek down the corridor to Tom’s room, past the little side table with the giant vase, past the large abstract art hangings pinned on the walls.

Tom’s door was already open. Harry had once stuck a sign on it that read _'Tom’s Room! Keep Out!’_ in his messiest attempt at calligraphy, but the sheet had vanished before he’d even gotten a chance to make a joke about it.

“Are you plotting again?” Harry asked as he peered into the room. He’d learned his lesson about just strolling headlong in here, because sometimes Tom was up to really weird shit, and that stuff required at least a few seconds of visual acclimation.

“No,” said Tom. Which meant that he was, only he didn’t want to say what he was up to.

Harry walked in. Tom was in his desk chair and looking at his laptop, which was open to a familiar landing page.

“You’re writing an e-mail,” Harry said, astounded. “You hate e-mail!”

“I don’t _hate_ e-mail,” Tom groused. “I simply have a preference, and that preference is for letter writing. And possibly telephones, though I do plan to grotesquely murder the next telemarketer that dares to ring me up.”

“Uh huh,” said Harry. “Who are you e-mailing?”

Tom had not looked up once since Harry had entered the room. “I posted a request for a film crew, and I am now sorting through the responses,” he said.

_Don’t ask,_ Harry thought to himself. _Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask._

Tom squinted at his screen for a moment, then started to type. One letter at a time, with his index fingers. And when he went for a capital letter, he hit the caps lock. Out of all the reasons for wanting Tom dead (really dead), his typing ability was at the top of the list.

“Okay,” Harry said. “I give up. I can’t stand here and watch you type like that while _also_ not knowing what you’re up to, so. I’ll bite. What do you need a film crew for?”

“I’m going to have them film a documentary.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tom hit the caps lock key. Harry winced.

“A documentary about what?” Harry asked, desperate. As soon as he figured out what Tom was doing, his paranoia would be satisfied, and then he could go back downstairs and resume the maroon scarf he’d been knitting.

“About us.”

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“Tom,” said Harry. “We’re _vampires._ ”

“You say that like I’m unaware of this fact,” Tom said, continuing his typing speed of about one word per minute.

“Film crews tend to be human,” Harry felt compelled to point out.

“So don’t eat them. It’s really very simple.”

* * *

The film crew thing was supposed to be another one of Tom’s fleeting phases. It _should_ have been one of Tom’s fleeting phases. By all means, it should have been a crazy idea that Tom got bored of within a week of coming up with it.

Harry opened the door to reveal a dark-skinned woman with a wild pouf of frizzy brown hair. She smiled upon seeing him and stuck out her right hand.

“Good evening, my name is Hermione Granger, film director, and I was informed by Mr. Riddle that this would be the main location for filming?” The way she rattled off the greeting made Harry think she must have rehearsed it.

Harry eyed the hand that was being held out, then gave it a tentative shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “My name is Harry Potter.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Potter. I’m afraid the rest of the crew has yet to arrive—” Here Hermione lowered her voice, adding, “—likely due to the lateness of the hour. But Mr. Riddle was very clear about having visitors only in the evenings, so I’ve done my best to accommodate that.”

“Right." Harry nodded firmly. "First of all, you can call me Harry. Second of all, I’m about to show you to the living room, where you’ll have to sit and wait for a few minutes. If you hear any yelling, that’s just the sound of me murdering Tom in cold blood for being an absolute berk.”

“I do hope that’s a hyperbole,” Hermione said with a light chuckle.

Harry shrugged and stepped back so Hermione could enter the house. Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of it—all of the splendid decor that Tom had insisted on when they had built this place.

“You have a very nice home,” Hermione said politely.

“If that’s short for ‘we should eat the rich’, then I’m all for it,” Harry said. “Hear, hear, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione coughed. “You may call me Hermione, if you like.” She shifted in place, then patted at her purse, which was a vibrant purple colour. “I have a few forms that Mr. Riddle will need to sign. And then also a release form for yourself, of course.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then… we’ll have to blur out your face, I suppose,” Hermione said, her brows pulling together. “But I was under the impression that this was a project you’d agreed to?”

“Documentary lesson number one: Tom does things without asking,” Harry said sagely. “You don’t need to live with him for more than a day to know that.”

They entered the living room, which was all black walls and white marble accents. Harry gestured Hermione into one of the plush emerald green armchairs. “You’ll be alright for a bit? I’m just going to go upstairs and fetch Tom.”

“Yes, of course!” Hermione fidgeted in place, then set her large purse down on top of the coffee table in front of her. “I’m all set.”

* * *

Tom was lying in his coffin when Harry entered the room. The coffin was open, which meant that Harry could loom over the top and glare down at his housemate. The velvet lining of the coffin was soft to the touch. Tom certainly looked very comfortable lying in it. The peaceful expression on his handsome face, the dark curl of his hair swept over his brow.

Harry had the urge to touch the curl. If he tugged at it, would it bounce back? But Harry refrained from doing so in favour of pursuing his original goal, which was to berate Tom for being stupid.

“The film director you hired is here,” Harry said loudly.

Tom made a noise and sat bolt upright, nearly knocking his head into Harry’s. As his eyes focused, they narrowed in Harry’s direction. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Tom groused. “I was asleep.”

“It’s night time. You should be awake. Now come downstairs and greet the film director so you can explain to her _why we are not doing this._ ”

“Oh, but we are doing this.” Tom opened up the rest of his coffin and swung himself out of it. “Because this is the only way for our history to be noted accurately. Words won’t do it justice, Harry. There needs to be video evidence.”

“You sound like a maniac.”

“Give me a moment to dress, and then I’ll go down to greet our guest.”

“You’re already wearing clothes,” Harry complained, though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tom said crossly as he stepped over to his closet. “These are my pyjamas.”

Tom removed his jacket and undid the top buttons on his shirt. Harry stared at the pale column of Tom’s neck, then gave himself a mental shake and averted his eyes.

“It’s a suit,” Harry said. “You’re wearing a suit. The fact that the pieces are made from a silky material _does not matter._ You are wearing _a suit._ ”

“Don’t say it—” Tom warned.

_“SUITJAMAS,”_ Harry exclaimed. “They are suitjamas. Jeez.”

Tom opened the door of his closet all the way, effectively blocking himself from Harry’s view. “I shall see you downstairs, Harry.”

* * *

Harry wandered back downstairs to the living room, where Hermione Granger was still seated. She startled upon his arrival, jerking back in her armchair.

“You move very… quietly,” she said, blinking at him.

“Er,” said Harry. He didn’t know how much Tom had actually told these film people about what they were. Did she know that they were vampires?

Harry waited for another second and blinked back at her for good measure, then he realized he ought to respond to her statement properly. “Thank you?”

It took a moment for Hermione to recover from the awkwardness that had developed between them. “Will Mr. Riddle be down shortly?”

“Tom will, once he’s changed into his night suit,” Harry told her.

“Night suit?”

“Don’t ask,” Harry advised. “It’ll just drive you mad.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Then she fidgeted in place, and Harry had the unfortunate feeling that yes, she would be asking. Her loss. Harry hoped he wouldn’t be here when it happened.

“Ms. Granger.” Tom swept into the room, dramatic as usual, the tailcoat of his blazer flapping. Harry was certain that if it were possible, Tom would go out of his way to generate wind wherever he went just for the express purpose of looking cool.

Hermione stood up right away and stuck out her hand. “Mr. Riddle. It is very nice to finally meet you in person! Please, call me Hermione.”

“Hermione,” Tom said, pleasant. Harry noted that he didn’t offer to let Hermione use his first name. Smarmy git.

They shook hands, and Hermione sat back down, opening her purse up. “I have all of the required forms for you and Harry to sign. Once all this is sorted, we can begin filming right away next week.”

“Wonderful.” Tom opened up the drawer of the side table and retrieved a quill and inkwell. “Let’s get this settled away.”

Harry sighed. He had the terrible feeling he would regret this, and yet… “Where do I sign?”

* * *

**_ONE WEEK LATER_ **

* * *

“I had no idea that so much…” Harry paused to wave his hand in the air, an attempt to encompass the amount of lighting and camera gear that was working its way through the front entrance. _“...stuff_ was required for a documentary.”

“No worry,” said one of the cameramen, a tall, ginger-haired man with a splash of freckles across his face. He set a large box down on the floor, then stretched his back out. “You’ll get used to it. It’ll be like we’re not even here. Most of this stuff is for the interview rooms. Your, uh, bloke said we could put up in the spare rooms?”

“Unfortunate roommate,” Harry corrected. “And yeah, I can show you where the spare rooms are.”

“Ah,” said the cameraman with a cheeky grin. “I see. My name’s Ron, by the way.” He stuck out a hand.

Harry shook it quickly, noting the rough calluses on the palm, hoping that the chill of his own skin wasn’t too noticeable. “Harry Potter, though you already knew that. You can call me Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Ron said, then gave his arms a shake. “Jeez. Cold in here. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the door open in the evening like this.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go and turn the heat up after.”

“Great.” Ron clapped his hands together and scooped up the box on the floor. “Lead the way, mate.”

* * *

Harry cornered Tom shortly after that. “Do these people even know we’re vampires?” he demanded. “What on earth will we do if you eat one of them?”

Tom sniffed, affronted. “As if I would endanger our lifestyle so foolishly. You simply need to admit I am a better vampire than you are. I have learned from your past mistakes. I have accumulated my own wisdom to supplement those life lessons. I am well aware that we must be cautious.” Tom held a hand to his chest, where his dead, lifeless heart existed beneath pale skin and bone. “Really, Harry, you ought to have more faith in me.”

Harry shook his head. “I have _negative_ faith. I know that one of these strangers in our home will upset you, and then they will be eaten in a fit of rage.”

“Eating is so vulgar. I told you to call it drinking. Much more refined. But,” Tom added hastily, caving to the look of outrage on Harry’s face, “to answer your original query, yes, they are aware this is a documentary about vampires.”

“Do they know _we_ are the vampires?”

Tom smiled blandly in lieu of a response.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom. I’m going to kill you.”

“If only you could,” Tom said smugly. “I’m already dead.”

“That,” Harry said, jabbing a finger into Tom’s chest, “stopped being funny about one day after you first said it. Meaning it has not been funny for about seventy years.”

“Or perhaps your sense of humour is merely lackluster after decades of wasting your time away,” Tom commented, raising a brow. “You should be thanking me for adding excitement to your daily existence—”

Harry stomped off in the direction of the kitchen. Tom followed behind. The both of them knew what was coming. Maybe Tom thought he’d win for once.

“You are a pest,” Harry said as he made a beeline for one of the drawers. “I live here because it’s convenient, not because I find your presence particularly enticing.”

“I’d have an easier time believing that if you didn’t live here in my mansion and use my silk pillowcases.”

Harry jerked open the drawer and gazed down at its contents. “You are literally _alive_ because of me!”

“I am very grateful that you decided to gift me an eternal existence, Harry, but are you going to hold it over my head for the rest of our lives? That is an exceedingly long time.”

Harry lifted a knife from the drawer and examined the shine of it under the fluorescent kitchen lights. “Last chance to admit you have made a grave mistake. A very, very _grave_ mistake.”

Tom still had that infuriating smirk on his face. “You are so very stubborn, Harry. Though it can be an endearing trait at times, it is less so in excess—”

Harry let out an incoherent shriek of frustration and started stabbing.

* * *

“Mr. Riddle? Harry? I thought I heard shouting—oh my goodness! Oh my gosh. I am _so_ sorry, I should have knocked or something—” Hermione spluttered and held a hand up over her eyes.

Harry had the knife held out of sight, behind his back, but that did nothing to disguise the dozens of bloodless stab wounds in Tom’s dress shirt.

“Er,” Harry said, unsure if there was a reasonable explanation he could offer her.

Tom offered a distant smile. “Yes, Ms. Granger?”

“I—” Hermione shifted her hand away from her face. “I can leave if you were, um, in the middle of something.”

Tom let out a low chuckle and slipped his arm around Harry’s waist. “Nothing of the sort. Harry tends to get… feisty.”

Harry stomped on Tom’s foot. Hard. Then he inched his arm across and stuck the pointy tip of his knife into the base of Tom’s spine.

Tom’s smile thinned out. “If we’ve made you uncomfortable, you are free to leave.”

Hermione backed out of the kitchen and fled down the hall.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Tom complained, once she was out of earshot. “Yet another shirt ruined.”

Harry twisted the tip of his knife in deeper, enjoying the way Tom squirmed at the sensation despite trying to hold still. It didn’t hurt, but it was extremely uncomfortable.

“Deserved it,” Harry said loudly. He’d find a use for the silk scraps. A new art project, perhaps.

* * *

“Yes, so.” Hermione tapped a pen against her chin. “I don’t want you to feel like we’re being invasive, Harry. This is _your_ day-to-day life. We are only here to witness it. You’ll get used to the cameras soon enough, I promise.”

Harry doubted it. After speaking to the ‘crew’, which was composed of half a dozen uni students who subsisted on ramen noodles and pilfered their toilet paper from the campus facilities, he was more convinced than ever that this was only going to lead to disaster.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Malfoy,” Ron muttered in an undertone. “ _‘Here for the experience’,_ my left arse cheek.”

Hermione coughed. “Yes, well, as I was saying. You and Mr. Riddle will go about as you normally do! The cameras will follow you about in the evenings, as requested, and after a few months we will put together a full video.”

A full video of what? Harry finishing his maroon scarf? Tom buying yet another set of custom leather shoes after making a truly ridiculous amount of phone calls because he couldn’t be bothered to use email?

“Sure,” Harry said. “Whatever makes Tom Junior-Junior happy.”

From behind one of the boom mics, George snickered. Harry liked Fred and George almost as much as he liked Ron. The three siblings were a riot whether they were bickering with each other or bickering with Draco Malfoy, who was in charge of lighting.

“Anyways, I’m going to go and… grab a drink.” Harry looked to the camera and added, “You can come watch, I suppose?”

“You don’t need to announce your comings and goings, Harrykins,” said George. “We are but silent observers of your _fascinating_ life as a vampire sugar baby.”

Harry glared. It was not untrue, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing it. “Tom’s a berk,” he said loudly, just to make sure his point had gotten across.

George raised both brows at him, then mimed zipping his lips shut.

Harry sulked all the way to the kitchen, where a nice pouch of O-negative was waiting for him in the fridge. For some reason Tom was sitting at the table, swishing a wine glass of the stuff around like he was modelling an expensive bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Don’t forget to wash your glass,” Harry said crossly. “This is your house, too.”

Tom eyed Harry, then the cameras, then where Hermione was watching them from a few feet away. What was Tom thinking? Then, quite suddenly, Tom drained his glass and sat up. “Of course, Harry. I am hardly a barbarian.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Harry said. Last month Tom had tried to convince him that it was more efficient to _throw away_ their dishes rather than wash them in the _dishwasher._

With stiff motions, Tom maneuvered to the sink, turned on the tap, and started rinsing his glass. Harry watched as Tom dried the glass and even went to the impressive effort of putting it away. Maybe being filmed wasn’t so bad if it meant Tom had to save face in front of the cameras.

* * *

As the week wore on, Harry got used to the cast following him and Tom around. Harry got used to the cameras, and he got used to sitting down at the end of the evening in one of the spare rooms so he could go over what had happened that day. 

In a way, it was nice to be able to speak candidly about some of the things that happened in the house. Almost like keeping a diary.

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

[Harry has both legs draped over the left armrest of his red armchair. He looks at the camera, a wide grin on his face.]

_“And then Tom tried to tell me that it was_ **_my fault_ ** _he walked into the glass. He refused to admit he’d forgotten that he didn’t have a reflection anymore!”_ [Harry pauses and snorts a laugh.] _“So I let him walk around with a crooked nose for two whole goddamn weeks. He was so mad when he found out. What a great time that was.”_

* * *

Harry entered Tom’s room. He was looking for one of the various green scarves he’d knitted for Tom over the years. There was a specific pattern he had once used. He wanted to emulate it again with this new scarf he had started.

Tom was in there, looming over his coffin, arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, George, Neville, and Draco were huddled by the wall, filming him. Harry resisted the urge to wave hello and walked over to the wardrobe where Tom kept his coats. 

“Harry,” said Tom, not bothering to look up even as Harry opened the wardrobe and started rifling through it, “I was thinking of ordering myself a new coffin.”

“Hmm?” Harry picked through a grey coat. Then a black coat. Then another grey coat. Then two more black coats and a deep purple scarf. “A new one?”

“Yes. I want something with artistry. This current one is… acceptable. The materials are sufficient and the overall design is well-built, but it is lacking creativity.”

“In a coffin?” Harry asked, incredulous. He tilted back enough to spot Tom in his peripheral vision. “Creativity for a _coffin?_ You know, the thing humans build for _dead people?”_

Tom stepped around his coffin with a twist of his hips that should not have looked as good as it did. “Imagine, if you will,” Tom intoned, gesturing over the top of his current coffin, which was closed, “a stained glass art piece built into the lid. I’ve been sketching a design for it.”

Harry stuck his head back into the wardrobe, glad that Tom’s attention was otherwise occupied, and pulled out a green scarf. It was unfortunately not the one he was looking for. Harry rolled it back up and placed it on the top shelf.

“Uh huh,” he said absently. Tom had the art skills of a toddler with crayons. No doubt whatever Tom had done would be presented to Harry, and Harry would be expected to turn the scribbles into a proper sketch that matched Tom’s ‘creative’ vision.

“Wonderful. So shall I contact the manufacturer?”

“Do what you like, Tom,” said Harry, having finally located the scarf he was looking for. It was looped around the coat Tom typically reserved for the month of March. It was a ‘slate grey’ colour. To Harry, it was just another grey coat. “It’s your money. I’m not going to tell you what to do with it.”

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

_“Tom thinks that the world revolves around him. Unfortunately, the universe sees fit to indulge in many of his delusions.”_ [Harry licks his lips and sighs.] _“Tom has now shown me about a hundred different coffin designs. They all look exactly the same to me. He’s also given me this drawing of… I don’t even know what this is. A skull with a snake coming out of it?”_

[Harry holds up a sketch drawn on a piece of parchment. The sketch is a crude drawing of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.] 

_“What is this supposed to be? An ouroboros? It’s not eating itself, so I’m not sure. I would ask Tom what it means, but he’d probably give me a lecture about it. So I’m just going to do my best to convert this into something suitable for a man in his late nineties with an ego larger than the Pacific Ocean.”_

[Harry bends down, out of view of the camera. When he straightens, he is holding a sketchpad and a pen. He waves both items in the air with a sarcastic expression on his face.]

_“I can draw it now, maybe? Or at least get some ideas down on the page.”_ [Harry sighs. His mouth flattens out.] _“Watch me draw a dozen versions and Tom still won’t be happy with any of them. I do hope whoever he’s commissioned to make this thing does a good job with it. God knows if it isn’t up to standard Tom will try to return it. Can you imagine him trying to return a_ **_coffin_ ** _because he thinks its design isn’t up to par?”_

[Harry shakes his head and sets the sketchpad on his lap, folding his hands over the leather cover.]

_“Anyways, I’m going to draw this out a bunch of times. Then I’ll give it all to Tom and tell him he can stuff it if he doesn’t like them. I’m doing this for free, after all. I used to take commissions for art, back in the day.”_

[Harry shifts in his chair, then twists his body around to face the back wall.]

_“Do you see these portraits behind me? The first one, the one on my left, is of Ginny. You might see her soon. She and Luna like to stop by every so often. Ginny’s one of my closest friends. We grew up together.”_ [Harry’s brows pull together in a thoughtful way.] _“By which I mean we grew up as vampires together. So she is the closest thing I have to family.”_

[Harry shifts again, pivoting his body in the opposite direction.] _”Then the one on my right is of Cho. I met her a decade or so before I met Tom. Both of these paintings are fairly old. They’re nice, but no longer my best work.”_ [Harry frowns.] _“I’d like to think I’m better at painting now. At least, I’d hope so.”_

_“Tom asked me to paint him once. I keep telling him that his ego is big enough without my attempts to capture it on canvas. Still, maybe someday I’ll give in to him. Never say never.”_ [Harry chuckles lightly and resumes facing the camera.] _“You know, I complain about Tom so much, but he’s really not so bad. He’s not as bad as he_ **_could_ ** _be. He could be a lot worse.”_

[Harry smiles, almost fond, then reaches for his pen and sketchpad.]

_“Enough of me being a reminiscing sap, though. Let me show you my sketching process!”_

* * *

As if they had been summoned by Harry’s mention of them, Ginny and Luna visited the very next day.

“Hullo, Harry!” Ginny kicked her shoes off in the entrance hall and stared around at all the camera people. “This is new. Are we having orgies, now? Is that what this is?”

“What? No!” Harry felt that if he could have, he would have been blushing.

Ginny laughed, the sound joyful and raucous, filling the hall with her cackling delight. “I’m only pulling your leg, Harry. Luna told me about Tom’s latest hare-brained scheme. I do think this is less harmful than the time he wanted to place real human skulls on your property fence. Definite improvement from that.”

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ Draco blurted from where he was standing a pace away from them, boom mic in hand. George was at home studying for an exam, which meant that Draco was filling in for him tonight.

Harry grimaced. “I talked him out of that in the end.” Which had taken a lot of frankly ludicrous conversations about why just because things _could_ be done, that didn’t mean they _should_ be done.

“Is anyone going to explain to me why we’re all just standing here like that’s alright?” Draco demanded, glaring at them all.

Ginny squinted at Draco for a brief second, then turned back to Harry and whispered, “Does he know?”

Harry forced himself to blink. He honestly did not know the answer to that question. Draco wasn’t here very often. Most of the other crew members complained about this fact, bemoaning Draco’s lack of work ethic, but Harry thought that secretly they all liked Draco, even if it was only because he was fun to tease.

But back to Ginny’s question: here in the mansion, the subject of vampires was discussed candidly and with great frequency. Tom pulled stupid stunts to flaunt his abilities all the time. Draco had to know what this documentary was about… right?

“I’m right here,” Draco said crossly. He did not like being ignored.

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to be keeping your mouth shut,” Ron retorted. “Documentary? Hello?”

Draco scowled but fell silent.

“Right, er…” Harry tried to reorient himself. “Why don’t we go sit down? You can tell me what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other. How are you adjusting to the vampire life, Luna? Coming up on that fifth decade now, yeah?”

Luna smiled widely, exposing her fangs. “It’s great fun, Harry. I’m so glad you introduced me to Ginny!”

“Just the other day we went downtown and hung about the bar,” Ginny said as they made their way into the sitting room. “Loads of creepy blokes there. Some of them tried to follow us, so we lured them to the park.” Ginny made a slicing motion across her throat. “Awful stuff, honestly. They kept struggling and it made a mess.”

Harry nodded sympathetically as they sat down. Ginny and Luna settled on the futon, and Harry sat on the armchair.

”We’re thinking about getting a permanent residence,” Ginny continued. “Not too close to you and Tom,” she added hastily, “because this is your territory. Wouldn’t want to cast any suspicions here. But yeah, having a spot to take them would make it loads easier. Some of these freaks live in garbage, I swear. It’s like having dinner in a dumpster.”

Luna wrinkled her nose in agreement. “I’d like for us to have a place of our own.”

“We’ll find somewhere soon, don’t worry.” Ginny gave Luna a one-armed hug. Then she glanced back at Harry and said, “Where’s Tom, by the way? Is he home at the moment?”

“He’s probably looking at coffins on Google again,” Harry said despairingly.

“Oh? What happened to his old one?” Ginny asked curiously. “Didn’t he have that one made in Italy? By that famous bloke…” She paused, then snapped her fingers together. “Ollivander? His work is really something. I remember Tom was thrilled to hear he was turned.”

Tom might have had something to do with that, actually. Harry wasn’t entirely sure, but he would not have put it past Tom to offer immortality in exchange for an expensive, handmade coffin.

“Someone else, I think,” Harry allowed. “And nothing’s wrong with the old one. He’s just bored of it.”

It was then that Tom came stalking into the sitting room. He was wearing one of his green scarves, the ends of it flapping as a result of his dramatic entrance. When he caught sight of Ginny and Luna, however, he went still.

“Ladies,” he said stiffly.

“Tom,” said Ginny, attempting a warm smile.

“Hello, Tom,” said Luna.

“We’re just having a friendly chat,” Ginny said. “Stopped by for a hello, Luna and I.” She squeezed Luna’s hand. “We wanted to see how you and Harry were doing.”

“We’re fine,” Tom replied. “Thank you for visiting.” Then he stood there, staring at them, his eyes slightly narrowed. It looked like he wanted to be glaring but was also aware it would come off poorly.

Harry coughed. “Right. Well. Why don’t I go and get us all something to drink?” Any excuse to escape the awkward tension. Out of the four of them, Harry was fairly sure he was the most uncomfortable one here.

Luna tended to be unbothered by this kind of thing. Ginny and Tom, on the other hand, were both the same stubborn kind of person who would sit through discomfort until the other person involved backed down. 

Ron and Fred followed Harry to the kitchen. While they walked, Ron raised a questioning brow. Harry could only shrug in response. Hopefully, things would cool down in his absence.

* * *

After some drinks and banter, it was decided that Ginny and Luna would spend a few days here while they looked for a place to buy. Tom was not very happy with this arrangement, but there was little ground for him to stand on. There were about a dozen spare rooms available, not to mention the three extra coffins Tom had lying around ‘just in case’.

Anyways, it was difficult for vampires to find a home that could be made easily accessible to their needs. Harry wanted to help Ginny and Luna with the process as much as he could. 

“Thank you for letting us stay,” Luna said. “Ginny and I appreciate it very much.”

“It’s no trouble,” Harry said. “We have plenty of space!”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Ginny said, beaming at him. She stepped closer and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Her lips were warm and slightly damp. Harry could smell the blood that lingered in her mouth.

When she withdrew, Harry offered her a lopsided smile. “Anything for you, Gin.”

Ginny’s own smile widened. “Good night, Harry, Tom.” She took Luna by the hand, leading the younger girl down the hall to where the spare room resided.

Tom was standing stiffly at Harry’s side, but he said, “Good night,” to their retreating forms.

Harry yawned and rotated his shoulders, stretching the muscles out. “We should go to bed. The sun’ll be up soon.”

“Yes,” Tom said, his gaze fixed on the staircase. “We should.”

Tom sounded grumpy. Harry squinted at him. “How is your coffin project going?”

“It is going well.”

“You didn’t tell me if you liked the art.”

“The art is fine. I liked it.” Tom’s mouth flattened momentarily, and then he added, “It’s not quite as good as your usual work.”

Harry ignored the pang of disappointment he felt upon hearing that. “I mean... it is just a sketch. I can refine one of the designs if you really want me to, but shouldn’t that be the job of whoever you have making the thing?”

Tom said nothing for a long second, his face blank. Then he spoke again. “I said I liked it, Harry.”

This was too confusing. Harry was too tired to try and decipher Tom’s odd behaviour. “Okay. I hope you end up liking it more by the time it’s done. Good night, Tom.” Harry reached up to give Tom’s forearm a lazy pat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry walked off, leaving Tom alone in the hall.

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

_“Ginerva? She’s an old friend of Harry’s. They were turned by the same vampire. Harry says he considers Ginerva to be like a sister to him.”_ [Tom’s face is impassive as he speaks. His tone is almost bored.] _“Ginerva is with Luna now. They are a couple and have been for some time. So even if Harry did harbour feelings for her, it is unlikely a relationship would happen. Harry is far too loyal to betray any of his friends, and he considers Luna to be a friend.”_

[Tom crosses and uncrosses his legs.] _“It is of no importance to me, anyhow. Harry can do what he likes. No matter what he may say to the contrary, I do not control his actions. He is perfectly free to leave any time he wishes.”_ [Tom stretches his legs out and rubs a hand over his thigh.] _“Though my home is always open to him, of course. I_ **_am_ ** _grateful for the eternal life he has given me.”_

_“In return, I’ve given much to repay him, as is only fair.”_ [Tom straightens in his chair and nods at the camera.] _“With the wealth I have at my disposal, I can protect him from the most dangerous vampire hunters. I have traps set up all along the perimeter and state-of-the-art security systems installed throughout the mansion.”_

_“There is no safer place in all of Britain for a vampire to be. We have regular deliveries of blood packs to the mansion, all of them purchased discreetly from the black market. Our life is simple and stress-free, which is why Harry agreed to turn me to begin with.”_

[Tom leans back in his seat, a strained smile stretching across his face.]

_“So I don’t doubt that even if he were to leave, he would come back eventually. The lifestyle I can offer him is incomparable to any other.”_

* * *

The next evening, Harry woke to a knock on his bedroom door. He was surprised to see Ginny on the other side of it.

Ginny pushed her way inside and shut the door behind her. “Tom still sleeps in, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Harry said, bewildered. “Did you want to talk to me about something?” Talk to him about Tom, since Tom apparently needed to be asleep for this visit to happen.

Ginny pushed him back over to his coffin and gestured for him to sit down on it. “Alright, Harry. I need you to take this very, very, _very_ seriously.”

Harry sat down and stared at Ginny, who was regarding him with the most solemn expression on her face. He had never seen her look like that before. Ginny tended to live in one of two extremes: cheerfulness or thinly-veiled rage. This sudden pensiveness made him uneasy.

“What is it, Ginny?”

Ginny settled a hand on his forearm, curling her fingers gently. “Do not get all worked up about this, but I think I’ve figured out why Tom hates me so much.”

“Ah,” said Harry. He already knew that Tom and Ginny disliked each other. There had been an unspoken rule between him and Tom that they would not talk about it so long as Tom could be civil with her. “I didn’t know something was going on? Is there something going on?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side, a pitying expression sliding over her face. “How long have you two known each other, as of right now?”

“Er—” Harry ran the numbers in his head. “Over seventy years, for sure. Maybe seventy-one, now that I’ve thought about it. Not as long as I’ve known you, but it has been a good while since I met him.”

“When I ask Tom the same question, he gives me a number. An exact number, right down to the number of hours.”

“Oh. Wow.” Harry frowned. “That’s rather impressive. I wish I could measure time so easily.”

“You live together. As bachelors. In a gigantic mansion full of gothic overtones.” Ginny gestured around the room as though to indicate the gothic tones of Harry’s bedroom, which was decorated in loud shades of red and gold.

“It just makes economical sense, though. Where else would I live?” Tom had built this place for them to be safe and comfortable. It was large enough that there was no need for Harry to go live anywhere else. Even if Tom was being an arse, there was plenty of space for Harry to hide and sulk in.

“Tom buys you presents ‘just because’,” Ginny said. She was staring so hard that Harry was worried she would go cross-eyed. 

“Tom likes to waste his money on frivolous things.” Just last week, Tom had purchased ten fidget spinners in different colours to see if he could pin them on the wall and get a chain of them going all at once. “He’s impulsive and likes to entertain himself. I’ve learned to ignore him when he acts like that.”

_“And,”_ Ginny added, voice rising, “when anyone asks him anything about you and me, he gets defensive. I’ve been with Luna for decades.”

“I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually,” Harry said weakly.

Ginny’s hair was frizzing out of its braid. “Harry. It has been _seventy years._ He’s known me for _seventy years,_ just as long as he’s known you. When you’re not looking, he still _glares_ at me like he wants to chop me into pieces, burn the pieces, and then toss those pieces off a cliff.”

Harry rubbed his hands together. His stomach was twisting with minor discomfort. He did wish that Ginny and Tom could get along. It would have been wonderful for the two most important people in his life to not want to kill each other. 

“I mean, some days I feel like Tom hasn’t even warmed up to _me._ It isn’t anything personal, Gin. It takes him a while to get used to people. You don’t see him every day like I do.”

“Do you not see the picture I am painting here?” Ginny asked, waving her hand in front of his face. “Do you not see what’s going on?”

“Um,” Harry said, more unsure than ever but also afraid to give a solid answer.

A silence developed between them. Ginny continued to glare at him. If Harry had had a heart to do so, it would have skipped several beats.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I have no idea what you’re getting at, Ginny.”

“Oh my god,” said Ginny. She pulled away from him and buried her head in her hands, running her fingers through her bangs in a despairing motion. “This is the world’s _slowest_ slow burn.”

* * *

Thankfully, it did not take Ginny and Luna long to find a suitable property. This process was also considerably hastened by Tom’s offer to pay for whatever they decided on. Even though this was Tom’s obvious attempt to rid them of their houseguests, Harry said nothing. If Tom was willing to be generous, there was no reason to discourage him.

Ginny continued to narrow her eyes in Harry’s direction whenever Tom was in the room with them. Harry wasn’t always entirely sure what she was trying to point out. Tom was more irritable when Ginny was around, but Harry had only ever attributed that dour mood to Tom’s dislike of Ginny.

Now that they were all in the same house, surrounded by cameras, the problem was noticeably worse. Tom spent most of his time sulking in his room, and when he was not sulking in his room, he was stalking around the mansion and generally making an arse of himself by snapping at people.

Most people were suitably cowed by Tom’s irascible behaviour—especially the crew full of humans that were filming them. Ginny did not cower, however, and so Tom’s mood only worsened over the rest of the week. Harry was hopeful that once Ginny and Luna left, their lives would all go back to normal.

Then Draco accidentally knocked Tom in the head with the boom mic and everything went to shit.

Over the past few weeks, the crew had fallen into an easy rhythm. Whenever anyone was busy or sick, Draco was the one called in to hold the mic. The only problem with this otherwise stellar solution? Draco was prone to losing focus while he was on mic duty.

Upon being whacked in the head, Tom had gone on to lose his entire mind, his eyes flaring red, his fangs bared in a vicious sneer, the severity of his sudden, savage anger enough to silence everyone else in the room.

“We are _vampires,_ you absolute waste of oxygen. Just because no one on the crew tolerates you enough to tell you does not excuse your lack of common sense. How difficult is it for you to pay attention to your _job?”_

Draco fumbled with the boom mic, nearly dropping it as Tom stalked towards him. Tom wrenched the mic out of his hands and snapped the metal bar in two, tossing the pieces aside. They landed on the floor with a loud crash that rang ominously in the hall.

“I could snap your neck just as easily,” Tom seethed. “And then I would drain you dry. Your blood would be put to better use as my nourishment rather than powering that useless organ you have the nerve to call a brain.”

Draco stammered incoherently. Harry wondered if the poor boy had wet himself. With a sigh, Harry strode forward and latched onto Tom’s forearm, tugging him back.

Tom whirled around with a snarl. “Do not touch me.”

Harry was patient. “Then you need to calm down.”

Tom went very still, his eyes darkening to deep ruby. Then he straightened slowly, the sinuous lines of his body screaming _predator_ as he turned his full, deadly focus on Harry instead.

“Oh?” Tom asked, his voice a low croon as he slid forward, close enough that their chests were mere inches apart. “What will you do if I don’t, Harry? Destroy another one of my shirts?” The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted into a cruel smirk. “These people are here because I _pay_ them to be. They live because they are _useful._ You may consider them to be your friends for deluded reasons that I will never understand, but when this century ends? The only person you have, will _ever_ have, is me.”

Harry looked into Tom’s eyes, the irises crimson red, the pupils so dilated that they threatened to swallow up with darkness. The syllables of Tom’s proclamation echoed in his head. Harry was aware of how suffocating Tom’s presence was, how it expanded to fill the entirety of _everything_ until Tom was all he could see and think about.

Harry laid a hand on Tom’s chest and said, “Okay.”

Tom’s anger floundered, replaced with confusion. The harsh, inhuman lines of his face smoothed out as he tilted back, withdrawing from Harry’s touch like it had burned him.

“I said okay,” Harry told him. “I do have you, don’t I? You’re right. I choose to be here, with you, and I’ve done that for about seventy years now.” If he was not already dead, his heart would have been pounding in his throat, his breath held as he waited for Tom’s response.

Tom stared at him, his body now utterly still. Then, after an age, Tom glanced over at Draco.

“Know that I refrain from slaughtering you where you stand only because it would upset Harry,” Tom said in a measured tone that was full of disgust. “And because it would be a hassle to cover up your grisly demise.”

Harry felt relief wash over him. His shoulders relaxed, and he felt confident enough to reach out and touch Tom’s elbow.

“Fucking christ,” Ron muttered from where he was standing next to the far wall. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s call it for tonight, yeah? I think everyone could use a cool down.”

Slowly, the room emptied out, until only Harry and Tom were left. Harry had not been alone with Tom for more than a few minutes at a time since this entire documentary ordeal had begun. It was unnerving to be so suddenly alone like this.

Tom’s chest heaved with breaths he did not need to take. He was facing the door, his forehead wrinkled with tension. Harry was unsure of what to do. What was there to say? It had been only the two of them for so long, and now there were all these people in the house at all hours of the night. Maybe that was the root of the problem. Maybe there were too many people around.

“If you want,” Harry said carefully, “we can kick them all out right now. The crew. Ginny and Luna. I’m sure people would understand that we needed our space back. It’s been a strange few weeks.”

“What?” Tom snapped, clarity returning to his expression as he peered down at Harry. “Why on earth would we do that? Everything is fine. The filming will be finished soon enough. It’s hardly an inconvenience.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be headed to the funeral home,” Tom continued. “To pick up my coffin.”

That brought Harry up short. He hadn’t expected to be included. Tom had asked for a design, which Harry had provided, and he’d thought that would be the end of it. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to come with you?” Harry lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. Tom followed the movement with his eyes, then stepped closer. 

“Of course I do.”

The instinct to move away reared its ugly head, but Harry stomped it down. This was Tom. There was no reason for him to be anxious.

“I don’t mind helping,” Harry said. “Just let me know what I need to do.”

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

[Tom is seated in his chair, his arms draped over the armrests. He is wearing his pyjamas.]

_“Why shouldn’t Harry be the one impersonating the corpse? He does not have multiple properties and businesses listed under his name. If I was to die, we would be drowning in paperwork for weeks on end. No, this is much simpler, and I’m sure Harry will agree with me once I explain the situation to him.”_

[Someone off-camera says something inaudible. Tom glares at them.]

_“The artist would only agree to mail the coffin directly to the funeral home. Something about ‘exposure’. As if that matters when I’ve paid her enough to fund a small island for the next twenty years.”_ [Tom glowers, then relaxes again after a moment.] _“Regardless, Harry’s friends shall depart shortly. Then I will see about having a matching coffin made for Harry.”_

* * *

**_THE NEXT DAY_ **

* * *

Harry resisted the urge to thump against the lid while Tom talked to the funeral home director. Although Harry typically considered himself to be a fairly patient, reasonable person, even he had his limits, and those limits involved being forced to hold still for twelve plus hours while his crazy housemate held a fake funeral for him.

“Time to move you outside.”

Finally! Harry snapped his eyelids open and sat up. Tom was peering at him from the other end of the coffin.

“Let’s just move this into the car already,” Harry muttered, stretching his neck out. It was going to be stiff for a while now. “I can’t believe I agreed to hold still for this long. Do you know how boring it was?”

“Yes, yes,” Tom said, extending an arm to pull Harry out. “And I am very grateful.” Behind him, George, Draco, and Neville were watching and filming them.

“Next time you want a new bed,” Harry said, grasping Tom’s shoulders as he hauled himself out of the coffin, “you get to play dead body.”

“Take the back end,” Tom said. “And I’ll take the front.”

“People are going to see me,” Harry complained, but he did as Tom asked, gripping the back end of the coffin with both hands.

“We’ll tell them you’re the twin brother.”

“Who didn’t go to the funeral?” Harry asked, incredulous. How the hell did Tom come up with ideas for these ridiculous schemes of his?

“It was too traumatic to see what essentially looked like your own dead body,” Tom decided. Then he looked over the coffin and added, “The artistry is very nice, in all honesty. I may have to pen a nice letter—”

“Tom,” said Harry. “I will kill you for real if you don’t hurry up and wheel this out of here.”

Tom huffed a dramatic sigh and glanced over at the camera. “See what I have to put up with? I ask him to do _one thing_ for me, and all he does is threaten to murder me, as if I’m not already dead thanks to him—”

Harry felt his jaw drop open in outrage. “You _begged_ me to turn you, you absolute arse!” He gave the coffin a rough shove and was rewarded with a nice _‘thump’_ as the other end of it smacked into Tom’s hips.

Tom stumbled half a step back, then clicked his tongue in a derogatory manner. “Push _faster,_ Harry. No time to dawdle.” Then he started to guide them towards the door.

“Why is this coffin so damn heavy, anyways?” Harry complained as he shoved at the box. “Is it the glass? Also, are we driving this back to the house?”

“I’m driving.”

“Wonderful,” Harry deadpanned. “Good that I’m already dressed for my own funeral, then.”

Tom did not respond to the jibe. They wheeled the coffin over to the door and paused while Tom kicked it open and shoved the doorstop in place with his foot.

The camera crew trailed behind them as they loaded the coffin into the back of the large, nondescript black van that Tom had rented for this spectacular occasion. The coffin itself was not that heavy, but it was heavier than what Harry was used to. 

“Turn it to the left,” Tom directed. Then when Harry attempted to move as instructed, “No, Harry, not _my_ left—”

_—SCREECH!—_

“That _is_ your left, you idiot.”

_—THUNK!—_

“Pivot this way, then!”

By the time the coffin was settled in place, Harry thought that lying inside of it while pretending to be dead might have had some benefits after all. In fact, it had almost been peaceful in there without Tom to bug him. 

* * *

Ginny and Luna were in the sitting room when the coffin arrived back at the mansion, but they came into the entrance hall because of all the commotion. Commotion being Harry and Tom wheeling the coffin through the front door while the audience of the film crew watched.

“What’s this?” Ginny asked, her hands on her hips. “The two of you buggered off without saying anything!”

“Tom’s coffin,” Harry said grumpily, smacking the tarp-covered box.

“Watch it,” Tom scolded. “You’ll break the glass.”

“If it’s broken, it’s because of your driving skills.”

Tom gave the coffin a shove; Harry shoved it back. They glared at each other.

“Right,” Ginny said skeptically. “Luna and I are going for a walk. Have fun with your new bed.”

“Goodbye,” said Tom, not breaking eye contact.

“Have fun,” Harry said.

There was the sound of the door shutting. It echoed in the entrance hall. Neither Tom nor Harry had moved.

Tom bared his teeth in a polite smile. “Let’s see if we can get this upstairs without breaking it, hmm?”

Harry smiled back, just as politely. “Sure.”

* * *

◍ RECORDING . . .

[Harry blows out a frustrated sigh and collapses into the chair. His hair is no longer gelled back in neat waves; he runs his hand through it, dishevelling it further.]

_“Tom thinks he’s the smartest person in the room, in any room.”_ [Harry grimaces.] _“I know he’s like that because he’s insecure. Thinking he’s better than everyone means he can ignore his fear that everyone thinks less of him. Which isn’t true. Or if it is, it’s because he’s gone out of his way to be a dick and push people into thinking it.”_

[Harry rubs at his face, wincing. He looks tired.] _“I wish he’d see that people_ **_would_ ** _like him for who he is. He just needs to let them get close enough to see it.”_

* * *

_“Harry has a good heart. He is the kind of man who would rescue kittens out of trees and the like.”_ [Tom waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.] _“You’ve seen him. He knits_ **_scarves_ ** _in his spare time. Admirable and empathetic, but lacking ambition. Lacking the confidence to strive for more. Harry immerses himself in the comfortable and the mundane because he is afraid of pushing too far.”_

[Tom sighs, the tension leaking from his shoulders. He looks to the door, the line of his mouth softening.]

_“I would push him if I thought we would get anywhere.”_

* * *

**_THREE MONTHS LATER_ **

* * *

“How much longer until all this is done?” Harry asked. “Er, not that I want you all to leave or anything. But it’d be nice to have some privacy back.”

“No offense taken,” Hermione said brightly. She opened her purse—which always seemed to be on her and always seemed to have everything in it—and retrieved an envelope. From inside the envelope, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “The contract Mr. Riddle drew up for us goes until the end of this month, barring any complications or any desire on his part to terminate filming early.” She held the paper out to him. “This is a photocopy of the list containing the relevant information. You may keep it, if you like.”

“Ah, that won’t be necessary. But thank you.” Harry smiled to reassure her. “If you don’t mind my asking, how is it looking? The documentary. I can’t imagine that our lives are very interesting or make for a good movie plot. Except maybe the funeral home incident. But that’s not enough content for a whole movie, is it?”

Hermione pursed her lips and tucked her envelope away. “I think you’ll find, Harry, that other people will be very interested in your life. It is a great deal more interesting than you imagine it to be yourself. An outside perspective is all that’s needed. Part of creating a documentary is finding the threads of a story in the mundane and the everyday. Sometimes that can be difficult, but you and Tom have, well, a rather lovely story to tell.”

The word ‘lovely’ didn’t seem quite correct, but the rest of that did sound nice. Harry was happy that Hermione was pleased with her work here. Even if the documentary wasn’t exactly what Tom wanted it to be, someone had gotten some good out of all this. “I’m glad you think so. I’ll hope it goes well, at any rate. Tom has invested so much into this.”

Hermione scrunched her face up at him. “We have plenty of usable material, Harry! The end result will be wonderful, I promise. I can only hope that Mr. Riddle agrees. He does seem to have very exacting standards.” She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “But I do think everything is going well.”

“That’s fantastic to hear,” Harry said, hoping he sounded suitably enthused. 

“Think of this as an extended home movie,” Hermione advised him. “Complete with a curated soundtrack and attractive lighting.”

A soundtrack. Harry had forgotten that music was part of making a documentary. What kind of music would there be for this? Tom tended to prefer classical music or other instrumental pieces without words. Harry’s own taste in music was more varied; there was nothing that he wouldn’t listen to at least once. He would have liked to ask Hermione if she had anything picked out, but the idea of knowing what she thought about him to that extent put him off. Maybe he would ask Tom.

* * *

“Hermione tells me that the documentary is coming along well.”

“Is that so?” Tom strummed his fingers along the top of the dining table. 

The crew had gone home for the night. It was nearly dawn now, so he and Tom were having a drink before bed. Harry was more than ready to pass out in his coffin for a solid eight hours, but before that, he’d spend a bit of quiet time here with Tom. 

“Yeah. Honestly, I can’t imagine what it will end up looking like, but she says they’ve got a lot of good footage. Did you give them a direction or anything when you hired them?”

Tom hummed, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. “I instructed them to do whatever felt the most authentic.”

Huh. Harry would have expected Tom to micromanage the artistic vision of this documentary. “What do you think it will look like, then? Surely you’ve got some idea of it.”

“I haven’t the faintest.”

That had to be a lie, only Harry wasn’t in the mood to prod for a real answer. “Alright. What are we going to do with it, once it’s done? Put it on YouTube?”

“Once the video is complete, I’ll have to speak with Ms. Granger on the best platforms for promotion and distribution.”

Harry tried to imagine his face projected at a movie theatre. Pale skin and messy hair. Pointy fangs. It didn’t sound very appealing. “Exciting,” Harry said. “Do you think it’s going to, er, affect our lives here? Once people know who we are?”

“I’ve taken preventative measures. The documentary is not meant to be taken seriously by the general public, Harry. Consider the finer details of this documentary to be the product of a more personal nature.”

“If you say so, Tom.”

Tom’s restless fingers stilled their tapping on the tabletop. “If you don’t wish to watch it, far be it for me to force you.”

Oops. That wasn’t the impression Harry had wanted to give. “I mean, I _do_ want to watch it. Are we going to watch it together?”

“I plan to watch it regardless.” Tom resumed the relentless thump-thump of fingertips on the wood. Then he added, nonchalant, “We could watch it together, if you like.”

“Okay.” Harry smiled. “We’ll set a date. Ah, a time and a date.”

Tom reached for his glass and lifted it in Harry’s direction. “A time and a date.”

* * *

**_ONE MONTH LATER_ **

* * *

Hermione’s voice came through loud and clear over the speakerphone that Harry had graciously laid out on the top of Tom’s office desk. It had taken a while to find a strong enough connection given the lack of wifi routers in the house.

“Yes, we can hear you,” Harry said.

_“Wonderful! Sorry to have put this off for so long. I’ve been swamped ever since the release date was set. It’s hard to find time in the evening to call.”_

“No worries,” Harry said, exchanging a glance with Tom. “We understand. You’ve put a lot of work into this and we appreciate it.”

_“Did you receive the copy of the documentary I emailed to you?”_

“Yes,” Tom said, “just this morning. Everything appears to be in order.”

_“H-have you watched it yet?”_ Hermione asked anxiously. More anxious than Harry had heard her sound before.

“Not yet,” Harry said, “but we’re about to. We were waiting to check in with you first.”

_“Please do let me know what you think! We will be releasing select clips starting next week, so you have time to watch through and, ah, familiarize yourself with the content.”_

“Perfect. We shall do that tonight,” Tom said. “Do send me a list of the clips you’ve chosen so that Harry and I can review them before you publish them.”

_“Of course, Mr. Riddle.”_

Harry nudged Tom in the ribs. Tom stiffened and laid a hand on the desk to steady himself. He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at Harry before speaking.

“Feel free to call me Tom, Hermione. I think you have earned the familiarity, no?”

_“Oh? Really? I mean, yes, Tom, thank you. I—not thank you, but yes. Lovely. Wonderful. I’ll send off an email to you in the morning! Please watch and let me know what you think. Good night!”_

The line disconnected before Harry could get a word in. He smiled fondly at the phone on the desk. “She is a lovely girl, Tom. I do hope you paid them all well.”

“I paid them plenty.” Tom lifted his hand from the desk and levelled Harry with a stern expression.

Harry poked at Tom’s chest with his index finger. “See? I knew you had a soft heart buried in there.” Tom’s face scrunched up; he knocked Harry’s hand away by capturing it with his own. 

As Harry gazed at their joined hands, he felt an odd urge well up inside of him, prompting him to speak. “Have I told you that I’m glad you decided to commission this? The documentary. I know I was against the idea to begin with, but we’ve made some great friends because of it.” Hermione, Ron, the twins, Neville, and even Draco. “We’ve been on our own for so long that I’d forgotten how to connect to other people.”

Time had lost meaning after a while. Eternal life was… eternal. Harry had filled his days with a multitude of hobbies and pestering Tom for fun, but even that was not always enough. “I sort of convinced myself that it wasn’t safe to talk to humans because they only wanted to hurt us, but the crew has been fantastic. They’ve been accommodating and everything.”

Tom dropped Harry’s hand. “We are not meant to form friendships with humans.”

“I know that. It’s still—it’s just nice. A nice change. Don’t misunderstand me, I _am_ glad we’ll be getting our privacy back, but I liked seeing them every day. I plan to keep in touch with e-mail and the like.”

“If it makes you happy, I suppose.”

Harry scrutinized Tom’s face. There was something here that Tom was not saying, only Harry had no idea what it was. Even after decades of living together, Tom’s neutral expressions were as impassive to Harry as ever. When there was no expression, there was nothing to read, only the vague feeling that something was off.

“Well, let’s go watch our fancy documentary. I’ll set the film up on my laptop in the living room.”

* * *

The lights were switched off as Harry settled on the loveseat next to Tom. They were not typically the type of friends who sat down to watch movies together, but tonight would be an exception. Harry wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

Evidently, Tom did not either, for he said nothing as Harry brought up the documentary file and opened it with the video player. Harry swallowed, apprehension building in his gut. His hand felt colder than normal—numb and tingling.

“Shame we don’t have popcorn,” Harry said into the silence. “Haven’t been to a proper theatre showing in god knows how long.” He maneuvered the mouse to the ‘play’ button and pressed it.

Tom let out a neutral scoff. “Hardly exciting to have kernel bits stuck between your teeth—”

Harry’s hand moved of its own accord to rest upon Tom’s knee. “Shhh. It’s starting,” he said, then promptly felt nervous all over again, hardly daring to look to his left lest he catch Tom’s disapproving gaze.

Tom did not respond. His leg was utterly still under Harry’s hand.

The laptop screen shifted into vibrant colour. Harry held his breath, knowing that there was a decent chance he would not let it out until the entire film was over. Whatever they were about to see… he hoped it wouldn’t change things between them.

* * *

◍ PLAYING . . .

[A multitude of scenes flash across the screen. Each scene is a few seconds long. Harry and Tom are washing dishes together in the kitchen. Harry and Tom bickering over the placement of a table lamp in the study. Harry and Tom quietly sharing a drink in the living room. A voice starts to speak.]

_“Tom and Harry have been best mates for nearly seventy-four years. Which sounds bonkers the more that you think about it. Like an old married couple.”_ [Ginny’s voice warms with mirth.] _“Now, I’m not sure if they’ve ever introduced each other as a best friend—they’re stubborn like that. Maybe in another life, they’d even call each other enemies.”_

[Harry tosses a shredded dress shirt at Tom’s head while Tom stands with his arms folded over his chest. The camera pivots to the nearby table. Sitting on the table is a pile of shirts, all of them riddled with stab holes.]

_“But they get along. Certainly they get along better than anyone else would have been able to get along with either of them. Harry’s a darling, of course. You wouldn’t hear me listen to a word against him. I’ve torn limbs off people for that boy. But living with him?”_ [Ginny laughs.] _“That’d be a disaster. I grew up with a huge family. Noise and bustle. Harry grew up—well, he grew up on his own. He’s used to the quiet.”_

[The scene cuts to Ginny, who is sitting in the living room. She is wearing a bright lavender blouse and has her hair down.]

_“And I think Tom is much the same way. Because they can go for hours without talking, without doing anything together. I couldn’t stand it, that much quiet in a place that big.”_ [Ginny parks her chin on her hand, looking thoughtful.] _“Truthfully, I don’t know much about how Tom was raised. I assume Harry knows—because how couldn’t he? Those two are thick as thieves.”_

_“They have this way of looking at each other. Harry walks into a room? Then he’s the only person that Tom looks at. Tom speaks? Harry hangs on every word, even if it’s only so he can tease. It doesn’t take a genius to see them together and realize what’s going on, even if they never get to the heart of the matter themselves.”_

_“The heart of the matter…”_

[Ginny doesn’t speak for a second. Her expression is very intent, as if she knows what question comes next but is waiting for the right moment to answer it.]

_“Do I think they love each other? Of course I do. You don’t stay with someone for that long if you hate them. You stay because you love them.”_

[The scene shifts. Harry’s gaze is soft as he looks at Tom. “I choose to be here, with you, and I’ve done that for about seventy years now.”]

_“God help me, if it takes them another seventy years to realize it…_ _You asked me what the story is here. The story is them, always them, but beyond that?”_

[Tom sighs, the tension leaking from his shoulders. He looks to the door, the line of his mouth softening. “I would push him if I thought we would get anywhere.”]

_“If I had to summarize this documentary without even having to see it?”_

[The scene cuts back to Ginny, who rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair. She smiles directly at the camera, her eyes glittering with mischief.] 

_“This is a love story.”_

* * *

**_THREE MONTHS LATER_ **

* * *

Harry dropped a stack of letters onto the dining table. “Look at this! What is this?” Harry said incredulously as he brandished a piece of paper in the air.

“I’d be better able to answer your question if you stopped flapping that about everywhere.” Tom raised his brows.

Harry slapped the paper down on the table. “This is a drawing. Of us.”

Tom inspected the drawing for longer than was strictly necessary, in Harry’s opinion.

Then Tom said, “Lewd, but accurate.”

Harry felt his face tingle in the way he associated with blushing-without-blood. “You prat.” 

“I do find all of this very amusing.” Tom grinned, baring his teeth, and tugged Harry towards him. Harry fell forwards, his hands braced on Tom’s shoulders, his thighs bracketed around Tom’s hips.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.” Tom leant in, pressing his nose against the side of Harry’s head so he could inhale deeply. Then he nuzzled downwards, along the jaw, down the neck. “Thousands of our darling fans, each of them foaming at the mouth for us to see the light and consummate our love. What aspect of that is unenjoyable?”

“The fact that you used the word ‘consummate’ while that drawing sits on our dinner table is highly unenjoyable from any objective standpoint.” Harry placed a hand on the back of Tom’s neck and tugged at his shirt collar. “Enough of that. We’ve got mail to read.”

Tom ran his hands up and down Harry’s sides. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Harry swatted Tom’s hands away and straightened up. “We waited seventy years already. You can wait the thirty minutes it takes us to sort through these letters.”

“All the more reason not to wait, in my opinion,” Tom grumbled, but he consented to Harry’s departure by pulling his hands away.

“If only they knew,” Harry said absently as he settled on the chair next to Tom’s. “Half of these responses can be summed up with ‘yes, we watched our own documentary’ and ‘yes, we’re together now’. Honestly, how thick do they think we are? I know it took us seventy years, but—well. Alright, maybe they have a point. But Ginny said it _outright—”_

“Harry, love, while your rambling is adorable, it does nothing to hasten the process of our letter answering.”

“Git.” Harry stuck his tongue out. “I’m going to nail your fancy coffin shut.”

Tom reached for one of the envelopes and proceeded to tear it open. “If you could hold off on that for three weeks, it would be much appreciated. I’d much prefer to be trapped in it with you, darling.”

Harry stared. Three weeks? What would waiting three weeks do? And what did that have to do with the both of them? It wasn’t like the both of them could fit in there together...

Tom only smiled, waiting.

“Oh _god,”_ Harry said, realizing. “Oh no. _Tom—”_

“Don’t bother,” Tom said dismissively. “I’ve already put in a commission for a double with the same artist. Same design, albeit with a few minor changes.”

“A double,” Harry repeated. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Who is going to host the funeral if we _both_ have to play dead?”

“Ginny and Luna, obviously. They will play the roles of our grieving widows.”

“Who are burying their husbands _together?”_

“The modern world is very complex, Harry. You wouldn’t understand.”

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feel free to yell in the comments about these two idiots and whatever you'd maybe like to see more of in the future with them in it.
> 
> goofy "fanart" art done by [Minryll](https://minryll.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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